


You're Being Whiny

by amerrierworld



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Smut, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerrierworld/pseuds/amerrierworld
Summary: You’ve been touch-starved, and Debbie barely seems to notice, so you try to get her attention.
Relationships: Debbie Ocean/Reader
Kudos: 34





	You're Being Whiny

**Author's Note:**

> for the request: dom!debbie with a brat reader

“Get dressed,” Debbie said, poking her head into the bedroom, where you were digging through your wardrobe. 

“What do I wear?” you asked, nearly hysterical in the stress of deciding on an outfit, but Debbie was already gone from the room. You frowned as you were left alone, again.

You had been left alone all day, in fact. Sure, you lived together, but Debbie had been so cooped up with _some_ kind of job that you had barely even gotten a conversation out of her. Let alone had sex. 

She never let you in on the details of her job, because if she ever got caught, it be best if you weren’t involved, so you let her be. But Jesus, a _little_ care and attention for you would be nice. You did your best to be there for her when she was so hyper fixated on other things, but all that’s been causing was extra stress on both your minds.

And today you had a big event to go to as a couple, but rather than excitement building up, Debbie had barely mentioned it until this morning. She was so taken by her work that you had ended up forgetting it entirely. And now you suddenly had to pick something to wear, and that stressed your already-grumpy mind out to no end.

You pursed your lips, feeling extra bratty today, wondering if you’d be able to make Debbie look at you just a _little_ more, and grabbed a short crop top, and an even shorter denim skirt. Some ridiculous heels added on should do the trick. 

You stepped out to the main hallway where Debbie was reaching for her keys. Hair curled softly, makeup bold but sensual. She was wrapped in her thick, black coat, and her bare legs underneath suggested she was wearing a dress. You wondered which one, and were about to ask when she finally looked up at you and her eyes flashed something furious.

“You are _not_ going out in that,” Debbie scoffed, raking her eyes over your form. 

“Why not?” you grumbled, looking down and tugging at the skirt, “isn’t itgoodenough for you?”

A hand grasped your wrist and the other your chin, forcing your eyes to meet hers.

“You’re being whiny, Y/N,” Debbie snapped, “you know better than to dress like that for a _gala dinner._ Go change, now. _”_

You pouted dramatically, tugging your hand away and crossing them over your barely-covered chest. You didn’t budge from your spot.

A slim eyebrow raised slowly at your defiance, and you found yourself getting nervous as Debbie calculated what to do next. You chewed your lip and hoped she’d lay you over her lap, or maybe take out the restraints that had been laying unused in your drawers for far too long.

“Fine,” she said sternly, turning around, heels clicking on the floor. “You can stay home then.”

Wait. No. That wasn’t what you wanted. The gala was a big one, one that you had been looking forward to. You only wanted to have Debbie give you a bit more attention, because you needed it. 

“No!” you replied, clenching your fists by your sides. Oh, you really _were_ whining now. 

Debbie halted, slowly, and turned back. Her hand undid the buckle of her coat and shrugged it off, revealing a backless burgundy dress that shimmered as she walked. It was one of your personal favourite looks on her. 

She undid her heels, taking her sweet time. You glanced at the nearest clock, hoping this wouldn’t make you late. Debbie hated being late.

Once she was barefoot, she neared you and set her hands on her hips.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded, her tone chilly, “why are you being such a brat all of a sudden?”

“I’m not being a brat,” you protested, grumbling, “you just don’t like my outfit.”

Debbie’s lips pursed into a firm line and she took a deep breath. There was a brief pause, and you didn’t dare break eye contact, wondering if it would also break the sizzling electricity you felt in the air. 

“Is that all?” Debbie asked, nonchalantly. You nodded, shrugged, looked down, feeling smaller than you did a minute ago.

That _clearly_ didn’t please your girlfriend, because a firm tug on your arm spun you around. You caught yourself, hands flat against the cold wall, and squeaked in surprise as Debbie began pulling your skirt down.

“I clearly haven’t taught you _anything_ about fashion if _this_ is what you choose. Christ, Y/N, you went to the _Met_ with us for crying out loud,” she growled. The denim skirt came off. You hadn’t bothered with underwear because the outfit had been for show, but it only managed to anger her more that you seemingly were planning to go commando. 

She slapped your ass without hesitation and you gasped, back arching, toes aching in the heels. A handful of spanks on your cheeks left your legs trembling, fingernails scrabbling against the wall. 

“I’ve been working, hard,” Debbie chastised, rubbing a firm palm over your reddened ass, “constantly. And what do you do, hm? Distract me every. Single. Time.”

Her hand struck you three times, sharply, and painfully. You bit into your lip and whined, loudly, ass raising involuntarily.

“Oh, sweetie, have I really been neglecting you that much?” she tutted, fingers running through your slick that was obviously sliding down your thighs. “You’re such a needy slut, little girl.”

“No!” you cried again, head down and eyes screwed shut. The spanking stopped. 

“No?”

Debbie turned you again, pressing your back flat against the wall. Her arms framed you, leaving no room to escape.

“You’re telling me that you’re _not_ acting like a whore to distract me? Acting like an insolent brat?”

You shook your head, eyes stinging, barely making out the words, “w-wanted... a-attention.”

“Oh, so I haven’t been giving you enough attention?” Debbie replied, a mocking tone in her voice.

“You’ve been s-so... busy,” you whimpered, because Debbie’s hand was rubbing over your exposed middle, dipping down to your cunt but only lightly. “N-never get to see you.”

Debbie frowned, “I’m here _every day,_ baby. I barely leave the house. What do you _mean_ you never get to see me?”

Your hips rocked against her hand, and her thumb barely brushed your clit but the suddenness of it made you cry out, unabashedly.

“Never get _that,”_ you sucked in a breath, “b-been so long since... since...”

Debbie rubbed a little firmer, and your voice reduced down to a collection of whimpers and breathy moans.

“I forgot how whiny you get when horny,” Debbie was grinning, you barely could see it through your half-lidded eyes.

“N-not whiny,” you muttered, hips canting upwards. 

“Bedroom, little girl,” Debbie tutted, pulling away, “you’re talking back an awful lot today.”

You bit your lip to keep from protesting again, and went to the bedroom as she asked. There was still a pile of your clothes on the bed from where you couldn’t decide what to wear. 

“You’ve made a mess,” Debbie scolded, approaching you from behind and grabbing your hair with a firm tug.

“S-sorry..”

Warm lips sucked at your neck and your knees nearly buckled from the sensation. She quickly caught you before you were on the floor. Bliss coursed through your veins at the feeling of Debbie touching you, stroking you, and you barely noticed her taking off your top until her hands cupped your bare breasts. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing a few clothes out of the way and beckoning you closer.

The heels felt cumbersome now. She didn’t say you could take them off, so you didn’t. You towered over Debbie, but felt entirely under her control and the attention her eyes gave your body made you shiver. 

Then she leaned forward. A hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, and she pulled you to straddle her thigh. The dark fabric had ridden up so that your cunt was pressed against Debbie’s heated skin, and you choked out at the feeling, burying your face in her neck and the hair that sat there, smelling sweet and clean. 

You wanted to move, grind, fuck yourself against her thigh, but she hadn’t given you permission. Debbie took the time running her hands over your back, feeling your neglected skin, feeling your muscles spasm and tremble underneath her fingertips. She kneaded at your sore ass and chuckled darkly at the pained moan that escaped you.

“I could give you _all_ the attention, right here, sweetheart,” she murmured in your ear, raking her nails over the abused skin, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second, “but that's gonna make us late for the event. What do you think everyone is gonna assume when we show up late, and you’re _covered_ in hickeys and bruises, hm?”

Your face flushed with embarrassment at the thought, and your hips rocked slightly, your clit on fire.

“So you better be on your _best behaviour_ tonight, be a good girl, not be needy, and maybe I’ll let you have a go at pleasing me tonight, hm? Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you gasped, hands grabbing her shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Go on then, sweetie,” Debbie urged, “you can move. Show me how much you want it.”

She had just barely given you permission and you already started moving, rocking up and down her thigh, feeling the hard muscle tense underneath you as you chased your release. Her hands gripped your hipbones with bruising strength, helping you move, occasionally slapping your ass again, making pleasure spark in your core. 

“Such a good girl,” she grinned as you tossed your head back, “remind me who you belong to.”

“You..” you whimpered.

“And who do you obey?”

“You,” you repeated, feeling heated as her hands kneaded your ass again. A sharp smack drew a hard moan from you.

“And who never leaves her baby girl neglected, even when she's busy?”

“Y-you,” you were gasping, panting now, “I’m s-sorry.. I’m sorry, I’m sorry..”

“Hush,” she tutted, and her hand slipped down to press against your clit, “let it feel good, baby. I’m here.”

You came with a deep, guttural moan, body arching and spasming, toes digging into your heels as you rode out your orgasm on Debbie’s thigh. She rubbed your trembling thighs, soothingly, as you came back down to earth to her grinning at you with adoration in her eyes.

“I’m sorry for being distracting,” you managed to say between deep breaths. Debbie cupped your neck and pulled you in for a deep, loving kiss.

“No, I’m sorry for making you feel ignored,” she said, “I’ll do my best to not let it happen again. But perhaps _you_ could just tell me next time? Rather than dressing like.. well, not like you were going to a luxury dinner event.”

You nodded, and then you paled a little at the realization that you had _definitely_ made the both of you late for it.

“It’s.. the time..”

“It’s alright, we have time,” Debbie cooed, “we’re not supposed to be there until 8.”

Your mouth dropped open. It was barely 6:30. 

“You said it was at 7!” you spluttered.

“Because I knew you’d take forever to get ready,” Debbie grinned at your indignant expression. She rubbed at your cheek until your face softened again.

“Come on, I’ll help you get ready,” she urged you to get up. “Go take a shower. I’ll get your black jumpsuit out, that with those heels will look good, don’t you think?”

You nodded, blushing with happiness and content as Debbie began digging through your pile of clothes. Before you went to the bathroom you wrapped your arms around Debbie’s middle and kissed her neck.

“Love you,” you murmured, “won’t be long.”

Debbie laughed, turning and kissing you again, “I know you won’t. You’ll be sorry if you are.”

She pinched your ass teasingly and you squeaked, before she swallowed the sound with a hard kiss,

“Go on, otherwise we’ll never get out of this bedroom.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sandra Bullock really is just a work of art, isn’t she?


End file.
